


Workaholic

by JasnNCarly



Series: Jon Moxley (Dean Ambrose) & You [55]
Category: Professional Wrestling, WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Tumblr, greygirlmoxley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2020-06-03 05:22:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19457233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JasnNCarly/pseuds/JasnNCarly
Summary: A distant Dean makes you fear the worst.





	Workaholic

His blond curls tickle your neck and chest as he snuggles your side, arm vice gripping your waist, as his head rise and falls with your breath; this is the closet you’ve been to Dean in a while, and part of your wonders if it was because you had complained about not really seeing him much.

You’re both exhausted; the road isn’t particularly kind to either of you. But you still wanted to spend your time with him, still wondered how many minutes you two could steal away from everyone else. That time was dwindling to be less and less, leaving you worried. Was Dean bored? Was he thinking of, or worse wanting, someone else?

The demons of doubt gnaw at your heart you fingers play with puzzle of his locks; you shut your eyes trying to remember that he cannot know. Dean cannot find out that you’re having doubts, or it could drive him further away.

———-

Your angle in the divas division right now was as Paige’s prodigy; subtly, you mimic her style while creating your own unique look. The two of you are building closer to the boil over for a major divas’ match at the next pay-per-view.

“Something wrong, pumkin’?” Paige’s voice makes you smile as she twists a curl of your hair, straddling the available bench space in front of you, “You haven’t said much since you got here.”

“Nothing.” You tighten your fingerless gloves, “Just in my head, I guess.”

“You? No…” She chuckles, tilting her head, “Talk to me.”

“All right, but…if I say anything to you, it stays between us, right?” She nods, and you narrow your eyes, “Paige…”

“Okay,” She holds up three fingers and juts her chin, “some kind of scout’s honor. Between us.”

———-

After you had vented about your relationship with Paige, the two of you had a kick ass spot with Naomi and Tamina. Swelled with pride, you were quick to agree with Paige that it was celebrating time. You leave a written note with Dean’s bag because you know he hates his phone, then you follow the girls to a local bar.

A pool table and a pitcher of beer sounded just fine by you; you need something to relax you completely before you end up at the hotel with Dean tonight. As you and Paige accompanied some others to the spot, you feel looser – happier – that maybe you don’t have to feel self-conscious for the moment. You note Paige consistently on her phone, checking the door of the empty bar, and you wonder what the hell her problem may be; however, as she does it, you just drink and take your shot. 

You win the first game, stepping away to the jukebox as they rack up a new game and argue over who you will team up with in the next round. Pursing your lips, you scan through what seems like an endless library – uncertain of what your mood really is and how any song might help.

“You’re kind of cute when you’re confused.” His voice causes you to shiver in a way that you pray isn’t visible.

Pinching your lips, you tilt your head and allow him to settle his chin on your shoulder, “What are you doing here? My note said girls night out, not needy boyfriends.”

“Oh, I’m needy now, (Y/N)?” Dean presses a song before you can stop him and then turns you in his arms; he looks exhausted and moves slightly stiff, causing you to forget yourself entirely as you begin massaging the muscles of his shoulders. A groan leaves him as his head falls in reaction to your touch, his fingers grip at your hips and the belt loops of your jeans, “That feels good.”

Deflated and disappointed, you drop your hands, sighing, “Listen, I can tell the girls I’m heading out. Take care of you back at the hotel.”

“As tempting as that is,” Dean takes your hand, lacing your fingers with his and leads you to a corner booth to sit, “we need to talk.”

You panic, wondering if this is the talk you had been dreading for some time. Maybe he’ll start with “it’s not you, it’s me” or “a break is sometimes necessary to feel closer” or, the best, “when you love something, you let it go” to lead into the breakup you’ve been expecting for a while.

His nearness, the affectionate way he touches you – a hand in your hair and the other squeezing your thigh, is the only thing that throws you completely off your game, “Paige told me that you’re worried about us.”

You tense within his hands, causing him to smirk, “She wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

“You’re right. You should’ve told me.” Dean retracts his touch, leaning on the table, “But I probably haven’t made it easy either.”

“You’ve had a lot—”

“So have you.”

Your heart feels warm at the sight of his remorse, thankful that he’s talking to you about whatever this problem has been. Scooting up to him, you wrap your arms around his and rest your head against his bicep, “It’s okay. I just—need to know we’re okay.”

“I’ve been focused on the ring, on everything but us.” Dean kisses the top of your head, as you clutch his hand between yours, “But the problem isn’t you; it never was. It’s me.”

There it is. Your heart drops, and you pull away. This is the part where you act unfazed, completely unaffected as he breaks your heart; you tuck your hands in between your legs, and lick your dry lips, anticipating the shots you will take once he’s left. You wait for his eyes to sail over his shoulder and into yours, “So…you want to take a break? So you can focus on work?”

“No.” Dean snaps, turning his body to you and touching your hand once more to apologize, “No, I just—I’m not sure how to make this right for us.”

“But you want to?”

“Yes.”

 _Thank God._ You lean into him, pecking his lips lightly but linger long enough to leave him a little dazed. Pulling back, you run your hand up his thigh until his blue eyes sparkle with mischief, “Then, let’s start by going back to the hotel right now and…start making up.”


End file.
